


One Last Light in Kirkwall

by TheEarlyKat



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, M/M, No Anders without Justice, Nyctophobia, fear of the dark, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 05:47:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4948957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheEarlyKat/pseuds/TheEarlyKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke keeps a candle lit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Last Light in Kirkwall

**Author's Note:**

> I keep saying I'll write something other than Handers and why do I keep lying to myself?
> 
> I have a headcanon that Hawke keeps candles around for when Anders stays at the clinic late. Mentions of abuse are pretty clear to see when they come up, as a warning, but only a sentence or two long.

“I’ll leave a light on,” Hawke said before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head, one that almost caused a bruise on his forehead when Anders absentmindedly nodded at the ends of the words. He wasn’t paying attention, their meaning lost behind the flow of thoughts that were hastily scribbled on the page, almost forcibly, if the sharp angles of Anders’ knuckles against the page were any indication. He didn’t feel the lips pressed softly against his hair or the warm hand that lingered in his shoulder and he didn’t hear the door swing shut on the Darktown night beyond the focus Justice gave him. 

Anders never fully registered he was alone until the ideas failed to come and Justice became nothing more than a muted mumble in the back of his thoughts, sorting through memories to form another argument for the manifesto when more time was available to write. The dead of the night, when Anders’ hands shook and his knees cramped and his stomach howled – that was not the time focus would come. 

“Hawke?” he called. He stood, gathering up his jacket, not expecting answer, but it was always best to check after the first time when Garrett did really stay and was left, asleep, in the back room until Anders returned the next morning. Usually, now, Anders found Hawke missing after the last patient had been tended to and Anders wasn’t sure if it was out of boredom or to leave him to his work, knowing how antsy Justice grew when someone was around when they worked. Especially someone as distracting as Hawke. 

Anders shoved his arms through his coat and nearly left before noticing the shifting shadows on the stone walls. With a sigh, he turned back around to find the last of his candles burning on the desk. There was apprehension when he neared them. The dark in Darktown, aptly named, was impossible to escape. Nestled beneath the city, the only spots of sunlight came from precariously crumbled walls facing the sea. Even in waking hours it invaded all corners of the Undercity unless fought back with fires or candles – something Anders was quickly running out of. He didn’t dare to not keep something lit, as much as it cost him. 

The dark was just too invasive. It creeped across every floor, huddled in every corner, pooled in every hovel. It seeped into every heart from the most naïve child to the oldest adult and it found its way into him as well, into the parts where he thought nothing could ever find its way. It reminded him of what darkness could hold, of ragged screams torn from a raw throat and cracked nails leaking blood on stone walls, of utter silence and loneliness.

Anders shoved the memory away with a shudder and his fingers were engulfed in flame the second he blew the candle out. It was too dangerous to walk the twisted paths of Darktown coated in flame, but he still had to cross his clinic again and find the hidden passage to Hawke’s estate a short walk away. 

He hunched against the darkness, shoulders tense with his own ease and Justice’s defense drawn forward until he was sliding the rotting wooden door shut back over the hidden basement entrance and another wisp of light was brought into being. Anders relaxed, a shaky sigh echoing along the tunnel, and he moved forward. The walls were tight and their uneven carving sent sharp shadows racing before him. He watched them with suspicion and flinched before the twists in the passageway, but the movements became less violent and his cramped fingers loosened their hold on the silent fire in his palm the closer he neared the basement. 

There was a light at the end. Anders cut the magic flowing down his arm with a shake of his hand to climb up the ladder. His steps were slow, careful to keep the echoes low when he noticed the hatch thrown open. He saw Templars crouching in the corners of the room, swords in hand, ready to finally claim their elusive prize while Hawke struggled against them, unheard, in the rooms above. Anders wanted to scramble up the ladder, to rip their sword arms free from their bodies before they could think of hurting another mage, but each rung brought a new heaviness to his limbs until he was sure he would simply collapse against the last step and be found hanging there in the morning. 

Templars take his soul – Anders was beginning to wonder if any of it was worth something. 

A candle danced in the corner, fighting off the armored illusions in the shadows. Another waited for him at the base of the stairs and he clutched his pant leg tight before passing over it. No sword of mercy could find him in the light and Anders had no need to worry about leaving it. Every corner had a candle, every room he passed crackled from a burning fireplace. Nothing could haunt Anders here and the memories from years ago became hard to find under the comfort the estate brought. His shoulders dropped and his feet dragged as he neared Hawke’s – their – room because he knew there was nothing to fight so long as he was within the familiar walls. 

The bedroom was lit only by the glowing embers of the dying fire nestled in the corner, but a stack of cut logs ready to be used boarded it. Anders shuffled across the rug to arrange the embers into something more sustainable before adding a single log more to combat the chill that would only grow than to combat his fears. Hawke’s arm around him, pressed close and solid against him, was more than he could ever wish for, and the fire burned well into the night. It may have been one of the last few fires to burn out, but Hawke was truly the one last light in Kirkwall.


End file.
